


RENTStuck!

by lyricalIcarus



Category: Homestuck, Rent - Larson
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Poverty, This is gonna be a big clusterfuck tbh, but a fun one, this is gonna be a bumpy ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:11:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalIcarus/pseuds/lyricalIcarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the lives of the starving artist<br/>to the shakers, movers, and everyone who is trying to make it.<br/>Follow them through the upcoming months and see if they can make due.</p><p>(a RENT/Homestuck crossover fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Anarchy occurs

_**== > Curtains: **_ _**Rise** _

     You are now seated in the house, watching as the curtains open up and all the lights dim around you. You are no longer sitting in some theatre, but a bystander watching a young man go through the trials and tribulations of life, and his friends going through their own motions. 

And for a brief moment, you can relate.

 

_**== > John: Begin Story ** _

     John sets his camera on the tripod as he sets the scene of his documentary. Once everything is set up just right, he takes a few steps back, breathes in deep and begins.

     “We start our story on Christmas Eve with me, John, and my roommate, Dave. We live in an old loft on the corner of 4th street and 13th Avenue, the top floor of an old music publishing factory. Old music posters hang on the wall with Dave’s logo,a weird looking gear over a record, advertising gigs at LoHac and Dee Scratch’s.” Out of the shadows, Dave comes in with an old, rusty trashcan, the scent of smoke clinging to the metal. Dave drops the can in front of John, and goes back to his guitar, attempting to tune the old 6 string. Laughing, John continues.”We have an illegal wood burning stove! It’s exhaust pipe goes up and out through the skylight. All of our electrical appliances are connected to one thick extension cord, which makes its way outside through a window. Outside, a tent city has popped up next door and inside, we are freezing. Because we have no heat.”

     Quickly grabbing the camera, he pushes it in front of Dave’s face. John grins as he annoys his best friend. “Smile!” Batting him away, Dave resumes tuning his guitar, and John continues his narrating as he flips it around so he’s on film. “December 24, 9pm. Eastern Standard time. From here on, I shoot rogue, no script, and see what becomes of it. Unlike my last works of shit.” He speaks dramatically, his protruding buck teeth evident in his smile.

 

    In a fit of renewed excitement, John swings the camera wildly back to Dave, who is slowly getting more and more frustrated with his instrument. “First shot of Dave! Here we see the cool kid tuning the Fender guitar he hasn’t played in a year-” “This won’t tune.” Dave spits out, cutting John off. “We can tell” John quips to his camera. Lowering his voice, he whispers to the camera. “He’s coming back from half a year of withdrawal” Dave stops his playing and looks at John, his eyebrows scrunched. “You talkin’ to me?” John lowers his camera from eye level and scoffs at Dave, rolling his vibrant blue eyes. “Not at all!”

 

    Resuming his pose, he zooms his lense and and steadies his hand, his voice sounding overly dramatic. “Are you ready? Hold that pose and tell the folks at home what you are doing, Dave!” Satisfied with how his Fender sounds, the blonde plucks a few strings before answering his friend.”I’m writing one great song be-” Suddenly, Dave was cut off by the telephone ringing behind him.”The phone rings! Our heroes screen, zoom to the answering machine!”

**_Speak! *beep*_ **

_That was a very loud beep. I’m not sure if this is working!_

_John? John are you there? You aren’t screening your calls are you? It’s dad!_

_Just calling to say I love you and I’m so proud of you son._

_Jane and Roxy are here and they send their love._

_Oh, and I hope you like the cake! Just make sure it’s covered when you leave the house._

_And I’m so sorry to hear that Vriska dumped you, c’est la vie!_

_So let her be a homosexual! There are tons of little birds in the sky!_

_Love dad!_

     Letting out a long suffering sigh John refocuses his camera back on his friend, who is running scales up and down the Fender’s fretboard. “Once more with feeling, tell the folks at home what you’re doing, Dave!”

_**** _

     “I'm writing one great so-” the phone ring cuts Dave off again, and John lets out a frustrated breath. The two let the phone go to the machine, waiting to see who called.

**_Speak! *beep*_ **

_I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus-_

     The voice on the other end was cut off as John ran to pick up the phone, both him and Dave recognize the familiar voice. “Dirk!” Outside stood Dirk Strider, across the street looking at Dave and John’s complex.

     “Yo. I'm downstairs, throw down the key.” Inside, Dave tosses the spare key to John, who in turns throws it down to their friend on the street through the double door opening, even though it misses him by a few feet. As John turn his back to the double doors, 3 men approached Dirk, bats in hand. “Shit.”

 

     Before John could resume filming, the phone rang for a third time. Instead of screening the call, John answered the phone.

_**** _

     “Joyus Kwanzaa.” said the deep bass voice from the other end of the phone.

     “Equius!” _Shit._

     At the mention of the name, Dave set down his guitar and walked over to where John was standing by the telephone, leaning in to hear the whole conversation.

     “I’m on my way.”

     “Great.” _Fuck._

     “I need the rent.” At this, John and Dave looked at each other with a mutual perplexed look. Grabbing the phone from his friend, Dave spoke into the receiver. “What rent?” A mere scoff was given in turn. “This past year’s rent, which I let you pass,” came the curt answer.

_******  
****** _

     “Pass? You said we were good! When you bought the building.” Behind him, John chimed in, “When we were roommates? You lived here, remember?”

     Another deep scoff. “How could I forget? You, me, Strider, Dave and Vriska. How is the spider witch?” Taking the phone back from Dave, John let a sigh slip out before talking. “She’s performing tonight-”

    “I know,” Equius said, cutting John off mid breath.”You still her,quote, production manager?” Another sigh. “No, I-”

    “Are you even still dating her?” Behind him, John heard his friend crack up in laughter.

     "She dumped me two months ago.” More laughter from Dave ensued. “So she finally got someone who could handle all those silly ‘irons in the fire’? What’s his name?” Dave gave John a look of mutual annoyance at Equius’s prodding.

     “Kanaya.” At this, Equius let a deep chortle rip through his chest, vibrating through the other end of the phone in a tinny noise. “The rent is due. Pony up, or I’m going to evict you.” The line went dead, and John slammed the phone down, going back to his camera. Dave slowly made his way back to his guitar, finally tuned it, and began to pluck out a simple melody on the six string.

_**** _

     Suddenly, Dave’s guitar goes quiet and the duo are immersed in utter darkness.

_**** _

     “The power blows!”

 

     And all hell broke loose on 13th Avenue.

_******  
****** _

_**== > Residents: Revolt against this bullshit** _

     Running to the balcony, John captures the outrage filling the streets of the residents without power, starving artists looking for a way to flip a switch.

_**** _

_How do you document real life when_

_real life is getting more like fiction each day?_

_Upgrades, downgrades,_

_give or take, and no place to go;_

_it’s eviction or pay_

_**** _

    Walking out to join him, Dave stares down below, his acoustic slung over his narrow shoulder.

_**** _

_How do you write a tune_

_when the chords won’t bloom_

_as they used to in the midnight air?_

_When the words are sour_

_where is the power_

_that you once had?_

_Cuz it isnt there._

****  
  
****

Looking back at his friend, John gives Dave a look of mischief and motions him to follow.

_We’re hungry and frozen!_

__

     “Some life that we’ve chosen,” Dave mutters behind him.

    Grabbing a fistful of notices, John waves the bunch in Dave’s face, hoping he’ll catch on.

_How we gonna pay?_

_How are we gonna pay?_

_How’re we gonna pay last years rent?_

     Not getting what he’s saying, John throws the papers into the trashcan. “We light some ‘sick fires’!” Dave’s gives a smirk in return and immediately grabs several of John’s scripts and starts methodically tearing them apart and tossing them into the trashcan.

_How do you start a fire_

_when theres nothing to burn_

_and you're sick of not knowing_

_what else to do?_

     John follows suit and starts ripping down posters and adverts that are hung up all across the loft space, crumpling them into balls and shooting them to the trash.

_And how do you keep the heat in_

_when all you feel is wind_

_and you’re turning blue?_

     Dave jumps to reach the matches in a cabinet, producing a full carton from the shelf.

_Well you light up a mean blaze!_

_With posters-_

     Cutting him off, John rips his _Valley Girl_ poster off the wall and rips it down the middle, the tear going between the two main stars of the film.

_Of Nic Cage!_

__

     After ripping the poster to shreds, John tosses the pieces up in the air, letting the paper flutter down to the trashcan below.Fumbling to get a match out of the carton, Dave strikes the match with the same amount of gusto he used to strum his guitar, and flicks it into the metal can, the tinder catching fire instantly.

Looking on as the paper burns, the duo chants together, almost giddy at the small act of rebellion they’ve plotted.

_How’re we gonna pay,_

_how’re we gonna pay,_

_how’re we gonna pay last years rent?_   
****

* * *

  
Down the street, on the corner of Life Cafe, stands an African-American woman huddled next to a payphone to avoid the harsh winds blowing through her short hair. Inserting a shiny quarter into the slot, her leather covered finger punches in a phone number.

     “Hey, don’t screen Vriska. It’s me Kanaya, substitute production manager extraordinaire.” The woman let out a nervous giggle at her own joke. Her face falls as she listens to the panicked voice on the other end.

     “Calm down, did you eat?” More panicked talking from the other end. “But Vriska, you haven’t eaten all day. No you won’t throw up.” She was cut off by a rapid succession of questions. “The digital delay? It didn’t blow up _exactly_. In the off chance that something could’ve gone wrong-”  A few beats of silence were had as Kanaya waited for her lover’s response. When she spoke again, Kanaya only had one thing to say to her suggestion.

     “You’re not calling John!”

* * *

 

     Back on the riot filled 13th Avenue, Dirk Strider was being pursued by a couple of teenaged thugs looking for easy pickings. Running as fast as he can, he slid to a stop and ran down an alleyway beside John and Dave’s apartment. In his frantic movement, he trips over a trash can and skids to a crashing stop, allowing the boys to catch up to him.

     Attempting to fight them off, Dirk throws a punch and gets knocked back down, yelling as they steal his coat and run off deeper into the alley.

 ******  
**

_How do you stay on your feet_

_when on every street_

_Life’s a clock and it goes tick_

_Some welcome back in town_

_I need to lie down_

_And- fuck, I’m going to be sick._

__

     Looking out from the rusty balcony, John looks down into the street trying to find his friend. “Where is he?”

     Dirk stands to his feet, clutching the brick wall beside him. “I feel dizzy,” he mutters as he collapses back down to the ground below.

     Back inside the complex, Dave is steadily working away at burning posters and papers hung up around the room, rubbing his hands over the flames every so often. Grabbing an old newspaper, John enters, reading off a review about a show of Dave’s.

_The music ignites the night with a burning fire._

     Playing along, Dave grabs a scripts of John’s, mocking with an uptight voice.

_The narration crackles and pops with a sardonic wit._

     Sweeping up a table full of old magazines, John tosses them one by one into the can as Dave keeps track of how many he makes in.

_Zoom in as they burn it all to the ground_

_and melt the ice of the future’s snow._

Outside the complex, on the streets and in other buildings, more of the downtrodden light fires using notices, receipts and anything they can get their hands on. Soon, the warm light fills the street with purpose and life.

 

_How do you beat this game called life_

_when it finds a way to come out on top?_

_It chews you up and spits you out_

_and it never stops!_

__

_How can you define the new age_

_of faux friends, lovers, hatred and a new struggle each day?_

__

_What keeps us all connected_

_is the fact we’re players_

_and this is just a way that we play!_

__

     Pulling up down the street, a black Escalade stops in the middle of the street. Its owner,Equius Zahhak, steps out, his dark face a furious red as he takes in the sight and noise of the avenue.

_As a grown man,_

_I see where you stand._

****  
  
****

Overlooking the street with their flaming trash can, John and Dave give each other a look of mutual understanding. Tonight was the start of something big for them both.

“Use your movies to strife-”  Dave is cut off as John chimes in. “Bring your music to life!”

 

_We won’t abscond,_

_We’ll just move on!_

__

     Teetering the can dangerously on the rail, the duo yells for everyone to move out the way. Slowly, the lit papers fall down to the ground, the ashes scattering all over the payment.

Slowly, chanting rises from the ground floor, making its way to every apartment and floor.

_We’re not gonna pay._

_We’re not gonna pay._

_We will never pay,_

_Last years rent!_

_This years rent!_

_Next years rent!_

_Rent, rent, rent, rent._

_Never gonna pay rent!_

     John retrieves his camera and captures the sight and sounds before him. Dave stands next to him, taking in the small rebellion on the corner of 4th and 13th. They both knew they would face some consequences come morning, but for tonight neither of them cared. Tonight was a night of expression.

_Cause all we know is rent!_

Panning his camera around, John only had one thing to say.

 ****  
**== > John: You have a feeling its going to be a long day.**


	2. ¿Estás bien , cariño?

**== > Dirk: Don’t pass out**

That seems to be a harder task than normal for Strider as he stumbles his way through unfamiliar streets, all of them aglow with bright Christmas lights. The murmur of the various crowds becomes static to his ears as he finally tips over and falls, his cheek hitting the cool concrete, his breathing heavy.

Soon, he is being helped up by a stranger. Dirk isn’t sure if he is just out of it, but the figure’s face is cast in shadows, all masked aside from vivid green eyes.

“You okay, preciosa?” The melodic nature of this voice regains a face as his head stops swimming. He is greeted by a bright cheery smile and the green eyes that nearly look fake. A few beats pass as Dirk realizes he has yet to respond. 

     “I’d like to think so”, he said, attempting to standing wobbly on his own before falling back down into the stranger’s arms. The stranger slowly moves Dirk over to the stoop of an old apartment complex. Judging from the signs and street lights, Dirk couldn’t have been too far from Dave and John’s place on the corner of 4th and 13th.

“Did they get any money?” Dirk was shaken from his thoughts as his unknown samaritan spoke gently, looking over the various wounds he had acquired over the night.

“No,I didn’t have any to get. They jacked my coat, though,” Dirk said bitterly. “Missed a sleeve, assholes” he muttered.

Reaching out an arm, the stranger replied. “Hey, it’s Christmas Eve. I’m Jade.”

 _Jade, like the stone,_  thought Strider. “Dirk, just call me Dirk” he said, reaching out his own palm and shaking Jade’s hand. Only slightly smaller than his, but rougher. The two locked eyes, and Jade’s smile grew, cheeks pushing up the rims of the glasses over their wonderful eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll go change, there’s a LS Meeting at about 9…” The rest of the sentence was trailed off in a meaningful silence, their smile fading. Dirk gripped their hand in a mutual understanding. Looking up, Jade’s smile returned full force.

“Let’s go out, get you a coat, grab a bite, have a night of it?”

“My friend’s are wai-” Jade shushed the amber eyed man with a lone finger on his lips. A small smirk perched on Jade’s lips.

“The more the merry, you know. And I won’t take no.”

Slowly, Jade began to walk away and pick up a small ukulele that had gone unnoticed by Dirk. Grinning, Jade motioned for him to follow, eyes dancing in delight and mischief.

**== >Dirk: Go with the flow**

       Letting out a quick sigh, Dirk followed Jade down the crowded street into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering- The title translates (roughly) to "You okay, honey?"  
> Bc Harley-English is Venezuelan  
> Also I'm sorry for my lack of posting, I had exams and I currently have a job. I will do my best to try and crank out the updates as often as I can! AND THANKS FOR BEING SUCH A LOVELY AUDIENCE AND HAVING SUCH NICE THINGS TO SAY! i love you all <3


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